“Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges”

Welcome as the flowers in May.

Tears are the softening showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring up in the human heart.

Cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There is always more passing in their minds than we are aware of.

Treason seldom dwells with courage.

Come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last.

We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.

I was born a Scotsman and a bare one. Therefore I was born to fight my way in the world.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displays itself, without ceremony or restraint.

It is wonderful what strength of purpose and boldness and energy of will are roused by the assurance that we are doing our duty.

Cats are a mysterious kind of folk.

One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.

Steady of heart and stout of hand.

Do not Christians and Heathens, and Jews and Gentiles, and poets and philosophers, unite in allowing the starry influences?

Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.

The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.